Sunday Storms
by Jamie Scarlett
Summary: For the SGA10 celebration. This was not how John expected his Sunday to go. Teen!McShep.


**I cannot stop writing for this pairing. Teen!McShep. Based off of the prompt 'Sunday'.  
**

* * *

This was not how he was expecting his day to go. 18-year old John Sheppard had intended on spending the lazy Sunday morning in bed, just relaxing and not letting himself think about the physics midterm that was looming over him like a storm cloud.

His mother disagreed with his plans. She'd shooed him out of the house at 10am with a shopping list a foot long; he returned some 2 hours later, had a little time for lunch before he found himself being shooed out again, this time with a promise of _yes, Mom, I'll study_.

1pm found him in the nearest park, textbooks spread out in front of him, equations swimming before his eyes. John ran a hand through his already messy hair, slammed one of the books shut, and called Rodney.

* * *

"… What?" Rodney McKay may be a genius, but sometimes John swore the 18-year old Canadian suffered from selective deafness.

"I said, I need your help. I have my midterm on Tuesday and this might as well be written in Gallifreyan for all the sense it's making."

"Alright, I'll help. But you owe me. And since when did you watch Doctor Who?"

John tried not to laugh at his friend's still-sleepy-even-though-it's-1pm tone. "Since you made me. I'm in the park closest to my house - do you wanna meet there or go somewhere else?"

"Library. I'd suggest my house, but Jeannie's driving me crazy."

"The library it is, then. Hey, the fair's set up near there, right?"

There was an exasperated sigh of 'Sheppard' before the line went dead. John grinned and gathered up his textbooks.

* * *

"…Do you get it now?"

John chewed on the end of his pen and scanned the paper in front of him. "I think so." He looked back up at Rodney and caught the other teen staring at the pen between his lips.

"Rodney?"

"Hm?" Rodney had completely zoned out.

John shook his head and stood, plucking his jacket from the back of his chair. "What do I owe you?"

"N-nothing." He decided not to question why Rodney's voice wavered.

John stilled, one arm in his jacket, the leather hugging his shoulders. "Are you sure?"

Rodney nodded. "Yeah, it's alright."

John thought it a little odd that his normally demanding friend was being so… quiet today. After all, it was Rodney who said that John owed him. Why was he backing down?

"Okay. I don't know what you're up to for the rest of the day, but I'm going to the fair." John purposely left that as an open invitation and headed for the door of the library. Rodney called after him and got shushed by the librarian on the way out.

* * *

That was how they ended up on the Ferris Wheel in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The Ferris Wheel booth rocked in the heavy wind, rain drumming on the canopy over their heads. They were stuck on the ride until the storm had calmed, until it was safe enough to move.

John was sat against the wall of the small booth, knees bent uncomfortably in the tight space. It didn't help that he had Rodney pressed into his side, burying his face in John's shoulder every time there was a clap of thunder.

"I knew this was a bad idea." John told Rodney when he looked up at him. Rodney's reply was lost to the wind, a particularly fierce gust rocking the booth sharply to one side. John felt himself tilting to the left, Rodney's arms wrapping themselves tightly around him.

The booth went back to swaying from side to side, but Rodney's arms stayed where they were.

"It's alright, we're not going to tip over." John assured him, pulling Rodney a little more upright. Rodney just looked at him, his blue eyes wide with poorly concealed fear and they were far, far too close.

John didn't know whether it was he or Rodney that moved first, but suddenly there was heat and pressure against his mouth and Rodney's smooth jaw under John's fingertips.

They shifted slowly, moving so that they were kneeling in the middle of the booth. The booth jerked, knocking them both off-balance and sending John sprawling on top of Rodney.

"We're moving!" Rodney protested as John kissed him again.

"Mm-hm." John was vaguely aware that the rain was stopping and the wind dying down, but he didn't want the kiss to end any sooner than it had to.

They had been friends since they were 15; how had neither of them thought to try this before?

* * *

No, John thought, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip as he shut the front door behind him, this was not how he expected his Sunday to go. Not that he was complaining, of course.


End file.
